


CHERRYBOY

by vapid



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Drunken Kissing, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, The Author Regrets Everything, i swear this started out as a joke, small death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26126821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vapid/pseuds/vapid
Summary: The candy starts to melt in his mouth. The aftertaste is strange, like cherry turning into sour medicine.Yuuji takes a step backwards, and another, and another again. He throws his head back and laughs, for no particular reason, and pulls the white stick out of his mouth.
Relationships: Matsukawa Issei/Terushima Yuuji
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	CHERRYBOY

**Author's Note:**

> this pairing started off as a joke but somewhere in the middle of it all i started to like what i was writing so :) here u go
> 
> this fic is inspired by the The neighbourhood's recent song, [cherry flavoured](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9aSDrXKZEK8).

It was an evening sometime in June. Yuuji remembered Matsukawa Issei along with a sharp twang of white and teal. 

The gymnasium burst into ear-shattering shouts from the opposite end of the court. They had lost to Aoba Johsai 2-0, both sets ending with Jozhenji losing by a stupid five points and, even more stupid, _two_ points. 

Not that Yuuji cared, really. He was really only here for a good time; those numbers didn’t mean anything. Like he said, stupid numbers. 

The two teams lined up on both sides of the net. Following Oikawa, Yuuji stands centimeters apart from Seijoh’s #2, hands and hands clasped together, a ritualistic exchange of _good game—good game_. Behind the white criss-cross of the net, something flashed in #2’s eyes. Their hands parted. 

So they lost. Not that Yuuji cared, really. The only feeling that mattered to him in this moment was the adrenaline pumping in his blood, the sweat stretching across his forehead and down the curve of his mouth that twisted upwards—upwards at the sight of downturned eyes and what seemed to be a perpetual smirk on a perpetually bored face.

“Better luck next time.” #2's voice was laced with laughter, but it wasn’t menacing, nor was it mocking. Lighthearted, amiable, a deep drawl that seeped into Yuuji’s bones. Sweet, sour, a strange feeling lingering in his senses.

  
  


◌◌◌

  
  


And then it’s summer again, this time seven years later and just a little past 9:30 on a Friday night.

Windows wiped down once, twice, thrice; Yuuji’s lost count already. The broom in his hands is heavy after a day spent clearing away piles of black hair fallen on cream colored tiles. Business was slower than usual today, giving his boss enough excuse to make him do all the dirty work like he’s still the gangly apprentice from two years ago, fresh out of college and still wet behind the ears. 

The salon is empty by now, orange swivel chairs placed in front of oval mirrors reflecting even darker orange light off each other. Baby pink walls look almost grey, scrubbed and worn down from the years that came before. 

While he gives the space one last sweep, Yuuji hums along to a tune that’s been playing on repeat on the old radio throughout the day. It’s some new English song, a sultry rhythm that resounds still in his head, mind beaten down by the sweltering summer heat. 

_Sweet and sour motivation_

_Wish I could keep concentration..._

  
  


Placing the broom against the junction where two walls connect, Yuuji continues to sing in his head, swaying a little as he tosses his black apron onto the copper hook. 

The tiny windchimes hanging above the door tinkle almost too loudly in the quiet Miyagi night. Darkness looms in front of him in the form of closed shops and winding hills and the moon behind a parted cloud. The air tastes like salt on Yuuji’s tongue. 

Licking his lips, he shoves a hand in his pocket and pulls out a small lollipop. It’s part of the regular bash he would steal from the large dish on the counter, which he had plowed through over the course of the day until there’s just two left sitting at the bottom.

Yuuji peels open the first one and pops it in his mouth. Artificial flavors fill up his body, breath turning almost sickly sweet—in an instant, he feels like he’s living and breathing cherry. He rolls the candy with his tongue, feeling it heat up against the inside of his cheek.

He can still hear the song playing in the salon, muted through the glass panes. 

  
  


_I feel like I’m fading..._

  
  


“Yo.” 

Yuuji starts at the sudden voice, cutting through the night. He whips his head up and stills in his spot. 

Standing a few steps away is a ghost of a person, a long shadow looming across the yellow patch of light that pours out through the wide salon window. Black dress shirt unbuttoned, the edges pulled out slightly from well ironed pants. A hand waves, a white flare from the silver watch wrapped around Issei’s wrist making Yuuji wince.

“Hey! If it isn’t Seijoh’s middle blocker!” Yuuji lets out a laugh of delight. The lollipop brushes against cold stainless steel, warm in his mouth. 

Issei gestures to the salon with his elbow. “You still open?”

Yuuji throws a glance inside the shop, at the clock hanging on the wall. The second hand drags itself across numbers. Time seems to slow down a little. 

“Hm, yeah…but I was planning on closing early today, though?” 

Issei says nothing. Yuuji hums along to a muted beat. 

  
  


_Sweet and sour motivation…_

  
  


_This song again?_ Yuuji laughs, mostly to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Issei jump a little at the sound slicing through the humid summer air. Whether there’s some sort of glitch on the radio station’s part or he’s stuck in some kind of karmic loop, he doesn’t know. Nor does he care, really. 

Tapping his foot against crumbly gravel, Yuuji turns his attention back to the man three feet away, and he thinks about the last time he’d held a proper conversation with Seijoh’s #2. 

They actually see each other quite a few times on a regular basis. Strangely, Yuuji seems to cross paths with Matsukawa Issei more than any other person after graduating high school, even compared to his old teammates and friends from Johzenji. Some have whisked themselves off to Tokyo, as most people his generation tend to do, while others are too caught up in their own lives to make time for anything outside of work.

Work. Responsibilities. The real world. Yuuji had realized, a bit later than the rest, that ‘grownups’ or ‘adults’—or whatever it is he’s supposed to be at this point—often end up meeting through a crossing of careers, more than anything. 

For him and Issei, it’s a constant, morbid exchange of customers. For Yuuji, death comes in the form of families with eyes rimmed red, parents tugging their children into the salon for a haircut. Yuuji would cut back on the jokes on such days, seating little boys and little girls on maroon colored cushions and watching vacant, milky colors swirl in their eyes as he snips away lengths of overgrown hair, in preparation for an upcoming funeral. 

And then the children would hop off the cushion and leave, Yuuji would see the family off, see them trudge down the gravel road until they disappear from his line of sight. Another ten minutes of walking and the streets would fade and open up to a set of rolling hills lined with gravestones, located adjacent to the largest crematorium in their area. 

On days or nights such as tonight, when Yuuji would stand outside with a lollipop in his mouth and sugar on his teeth and lungs filled with 9:30 p.m. air, he would see Issei walk past the salon and their eyes would meet—oh so briefly. A flash in the dark, a silvery glimmer.

It flashes again now, under harsh fluorescence and the humming of bugs hitting light bulbs from above, snapping Yuuji out of his thoughts. 

“...Hair’s growing out. Getting a little long on the sides.” Issei starts again, absentmindedly, like none of this is information for Yuuji to hear. Like he doesn’t mean it.

Yuuji gives him a quick once-over, scrunching his brows a little, before pulling the lollipop from his mouth with a loud _pop_. “Heh~ Is it now?”

Issei cocks a brow at the brash response. “I just need a quick cut, Terushima-kun. You’re good at being quick, aren’t you?”

There it is again. That low drawl, silky, an upturn in the corner of that mouth. The gelled hair loosened after a day of summer sweat, 

Yuuji blinks, and feels something churn in his stomach. “Uh, okay. But you don’t actually _need_ a haircut, do you?”

Issei tilts his head to the side, tousled hair falling short over his face. “You’re right, I don’t.” 

Yuuji stills. The gravel turns to dust under the soles of his sneakers. 

He’s not stupid. He can catch an insinuation as blatantly clear as this from a mile away. The night air sticks to Yuuji’s skin; not uncomfortable, but just enough to put his mind in suspension. The lollipop shrinks, becoming smaller and smaller. 

“Ha. How bold of you, Mr. #2. And what if I say I don’t wanna?” 

He’s given a lopsided smile in response. “Hm. Then it can’t be helped. But you do look a little bored yourself.”

That’s partially true. Partially not true. If Yuuji were to be honest, he’d looked forward to closing early today; but something in the summery air tells him he should take this chance. Play around with it. Run with it.

The candy starts to melt in his mouth. The aftertaste is strange, like cherry turning into sour medicine. 

Yuuji takes a step backwards, and another, and another again. He throws his head back and laughs, for no particular reason, and pulls the white stick out of his mouth.

  
  


_I sold my soul a long time ago_

_I feel like a ghost now..._

  
  
Yuuji wonders vaguely what the pounding in his heart means. How a pair of dark brown, downturned eyes and a slanted mouth contribute to the growing clamminess in his hands as he pushes the door of the salon open. 

He can't seem to stop chuckling. Reaching an arm out, he pulls down the white blinds, hiding them from the quiet streets outside. 

Maybe it’s the way the night feels a little less lonely now, and a little more exciting. The orange chairs shine a little brighter, the oval mirrors making his hair look a little messier in his reflection. 

Or maybe it’s the promise of a night that entails wicked recklessness; something he hasn’t felt since his high school days, when adrenaline akin to what he’s feeling now pumped through him with perfect ease.

The taste of alcohol is heavy in Issei’s mouth, heavier than the feeling of a cold bare wall pressed into the back of Yuuji’s shirt. _He’s drunk_ , Yuuji observes. Issei’s skin doesn’t betray that tell-tale glow, however. 

The inside of his mouth is hot. It tastes cheap, like Kirin beer and soda—like the cherry lollipop that’s properly seeped into Yuuji’s senses. 

The kiss, like everything else they’re doing, is cheap.

_And that’s perfect_ , Yuuji thinks again, and grins into the kiss. _It’s just what I need_.

Just before Issei can trace his tongue over the roof of Yuuji’s mouth, before he can hook his fingers on the waistband of his jeans, Yuuji pulls away from the kiss.

Pulling Issei by the arm, Yuuji pushes him down on the orange chair closest to them. He squats down, tiles cold against his knees through rough denim fabric.

“Oi.” Issei places a hand on Yuuji’s, motioning him to stop. 

“What?”

Issei raises an eyebrow. “I said we could be quick. You don’t have to do all this.”

Yuuji shrugs in response, already working away the button and zipper of his dress pants. “Well, yeah, but I just feel like having something in my mouth, y’know.”

Issei exhales, the alcohol in his eyes sharpening. The words of affirmation tread on the smooth plain of his voice. “Hah. Help yourself, then.”

Yuuji snickers. “I’ll be _quick_ , Mr. #2.” 

How cheap their exchange of words is. How cheap this night unfolds.   
  


_Cherry flavoured conversations with you_

_Got me hanging on_

_Down to Earth from all the waiting_

_Take me somewhere beyond..._

  
  
The radio is stuck on the same English song. It sinks the salon in an orange, liminal charm, out of reach from the rest of the world. Every creak is deafening, every hiss of air that escapes from the holes in the swivel chair is another pull of fabric past toned thighs, pooling saliva on the floor of Yuuji’s mouth. 

Yuuji wraps a hand around Issei’s hardening length, a delighted noise escaping him at each jerk and twitch, every time Yuuji drags his rings from the tip of Issei’s cock to the base.

“Fuck,” Issei spits, hand gripping the side of Yuuji’s face, fingers brushing the three piercings lining his earlobe. “So you still have that tongue piercing of yours, huh…”

Yuuji licks a long, wet strip up his cock and pulls away, barking out a laugh. “Yeah. I mean, I _was_ pretty famous for this, back in the day.”

Without sparing another word, he bends down and takes Issei whole. The tip of Issei’s cock pushes against Yuuji’s throat almost painfully; he lets his piercing graze the base, featherlight, a dance across coarse skin. The taste of pre-cum spreading on his tongue is salty. It complements the cherry in his mouth.

Yuuji feels dazed, almost as drunk as Issei. Hallowing his cheeks, he bobs his head up and down at the speed of his own desire racing in his chest, racing downwards to his own painful hardness. 

A sudden, harsh tug pulls him off Issei’s length—pulls him out of his senses. Yuuji relishes the pain in his scalp and chuckles again, eyes refocusing.

Issei reaches a hand down and shoves two fingers in Yuuji’s mouth, inciting a surprised whine from his throat, resonating deep inside his chest, heart pounding against his ribcage. 

“Hm. It’s warm.” Issei’s voice is slightly hoarse. He takes the steel ball in Yuuji’s mouth between the pads of his fingers and presses his fingers down on Yuuji’s tongue. A crooked grin ghosts across his face as he lets go, breathing out a laugh. 

Yuuji moves his jaw a little and grins before going back down. He sighs with his mouth full, letting hot air encase Issei’s cock weighing heavy on his tongue. Yuuji feels his knees weaken at every groan and push, at every bruise that blooms from scratches and scrapes against warming tiles. 

It takes another slowed down interval, another lazy drag of the second hand on the clock, until Issei spills white down Yuuji’s throat with a hand in his hair and a back pressed into orange leather. 

Saturated light, blurred with baby tears, colors Yuuji’s vision. The universe tastes like candy in his mouth. 

  
  


_Cherry flavoured conversations with you…_

  
  
  


The salon is silent, so much so that Issei’s broken breathing sounds like the only thing in the world. Yuuji wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and a sharp, incredulous laugh falls from his lips, breaking the heavy quiet. 

He reaches for the last lollipop lying in the denim folds of his pocket. 

The color red flashes. Cherry again. Yuuji unwraps it and peels away the crackling plastic, fingers almost shaking with adrenaline. Adrenaline again. Always this ferocity running inside him at the sight of a skewed smile and pretty eyes and dark hair curled in all the right places. 

Yuuji glances up and his gaze locks with Issei’s, hooded and overrun with desire. He shudders when the candy touches the sore flesh on the inside of his cheek. His body fills to the brim with artificial warmth. 

The lollipop tastes salty, cherry cheap on his tongue; his lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope u liked it [FAINTS] thanx for reading <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/inumvkis) || [cc](https://curiouscat.me/inumvkis)


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